


Where He Needs to Be

by Applesandbannas747



Category: Fence (Comics)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of alcohol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesandbannas747/pseuds/Applesandbannas747
Summary: Joe knows he's rough around the edges, but he's also got a realistic outlook on life; namely that it ain't all that much to look at.Hislife fell apart years ago, leaving him divorced and broke and with no real interest in getting his life back together...Until he meets an insufferably organized man at his old pupil's fencing match.Dmytro does not have time for relationships. Personal connections are a time drain from his work and he already has all his time accounted for in training his star pupil. His life is perfectly happy and fulfilled and has no room for gruff men with bad attitudes...But that doesn't stop his mind from wandering back to one particular man with a gruff demeanor and a bad attitude time and again.
Relationships: Joe/Dmytro Osharov
Comments: 18
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My dumbassery truly knows no bounds. Hello to the two people who are reading this, I love you lots, thanks for being here XD To anyone else who has clicked into this, let me give you a quick refresher on who the fuck these two even are in case you don't remember:  
>   
> What can I really say other than grumpy old men falling grumpily in love sounds like a good time to me? ~~and also: elisse, you should have known better than to encourage my bullshit again. now look what you've done. how many fics have i written because of you now? tis a mystery but i hope you enjoy this one lmao~~  
>  (PS the theme song for Joe/Dmytro is Accidently in Love)

Nick, the little scamp, turned again to wave enthusiastically into the crowd between bouts. Joe raised a hand and felt a huff—almost a laugh—escape him at Nick’s excitement, brighter than Joe had ever seen him before. It was the first match of the kid’s he’d been able to drop in for. Joe hadn’t missed _that_ much; it was only their second real match of the season. And it wasn’t as if he was the kid’s coach anymore.

“Are _you_ responsible for that one?” a man asked beside Joe. He had to look up to see the guy’s face but he could tell already from the voice that it would be full of disdain. It was.

“You got a problem with him?” Joe asked, crossing his arms and settling his own cool gaze on this stranger.

“Yes. He distracts my pupil endlessly with his poor manners and poorer technique. They shouldn’t even be fencing in the same building, let alone on the same team.”

“Nick worked hard to get on that team, he deserves his spot just as much as your boy.”

“Pupil,” the man said again, correcting Joe’s over-familiar term.

“Which one is he?” Joe asked, glancing back to the puddle of boys with navy blue socks boasting their school’s crest. “Ah,” he said, noticing that Nick was getting into it with a black-haired boy that looked like he’d learned a facial expression or two off of Joe’s new friend. “That one, is it? They look like they get along well.”

“The Cox boy is nothing but a hindrance and a distraction to Seiji. He’d be better off at Exton, but he’s set on this third-rate school.” Joe could tell this man was talking more to himself now than to Joe. “He can be incredibly stubborn when he’s set his mind to something. And _you,”_ he said, attention returning to Joe, “your son is not making matters any easier.”

“Oh, no, you’ve got that wrong,” Joe said, hands up and head shaking. “Don’t have any kids. Only his coach, here for the same reason you are. To show support for my student.”

“Ah, so _you’re_ to blame for his bad habits and terrible technique.” It was bluntly said and accompanied by a nod that meant this man thought everything made sense now.

“I guess I am,” Joe agreed, watching the boys mill about around the strip. “You can sneer at his technique all you want, but that boy’s going places. I may not have trained him up to rank nationally and you may not think he’s much to look at with all the training I could give him, but believe it or not, Nick’s about the best thing I’ve done with my life. I got him where he needs to be, didn’t I? Shaped him up good enough to catch the eye of someone who could do better by him. Now he’s at this third-rate school, as you say, and it’s gonna get him where he needs to be for the next step up. I know he’s going far. And me and my shoddy coaching had a part in that. You wait, he’ll be taking your boy out at the Olympics one day.”

“I doubt it,” the tall man said after a long pause. “Seiji is incredible. Watch him, you’ll see.”

Seiji, the severe-looking young man that Nick evidently had a bone to pick with, _was_ incredible. Fast and accurate and with perfect technique.

“Nick’s faster,” Joe said after Seiji stepped off the strip with seven points earned for his team.

“He’s sloppy.”

“His new coach will fix him right up,” Joe said confidently, thwacking the back of his hand lightly against the other man’s chest. He evidently didn’t appreciate the gesture and dusted off his soft green shirt as though Joe’s touch had left a visible mark there. “You’ll see.”

“It’s a little late in the game to make up so much lost ground. Seiji’s trained since he was a child, that’s years of experience Nicholas can’t hope to overcome. And you think he can take Seiji? Absurd.”

“Some of us don’t have the luxury to spend our childhoods doing what we want. Nick fought tooth and nail to get where he is. Shoulda seen the kid pester me into teaching him— _while_ working two part-time jobs, on top of the work he did for me. He’s worked hard just to be able to fence. That counts for something.”

“You act as if training isn’t hard work as well. The hours and effort Seiji has put in since he was five years—,”

“It’s not the same thing. Being set up with the best coach and salles and fencing partners since you were a kid is a whole other world. Rigorous and intense, sure. I’m not saying your boy didn’t work hard to get where he’s at, son. I’m just saying Nick is used to working twice as hard to make up for lost ground. He found a way to fence starting with nothing but some beat-up red shoes and a stubborn determination to learn. He’s got grit. He’ll make up this ground too.”

“Every morning, Seiji wakes up at four to complete demanding exercise regimes even before he steps into the salle to fence with me. _Your_ boy comes in far later and I’m sure he doesn’t warm up first. That isn’t what—,”

Joe and his companion were drawn out of their conversation by loud cheering. It seemed the match had ended while they’d been debating their pupils’ merits. The man clicked his tongue in what seemed to be disapproval.

“You made me miss most of Seiji’s fencing today,” he admonished. “How am I meant to give feedback of bouts I didn’t see?”

“I’m surprised you can see any of them with how far up your ass you’ve got your head.”

Seiji’s coach gave Joe a scathing glare, and Joe noticed the man’s face for the first time beyond just his expressions. He was a good enough looking man; strong jaw and straight teeth. But nothing about his face had particularly stood out to Joe until just now, when arched eyebrows pulled low over hooded eyes. He had long eyelashes that skewed his features toward what Joe would call a _pretty boy._ But now, with his menacing scowl, Joe noticed the line of white that broke through one eyebrow. It was interesting how that detail influenced the entire look of the man. With that scar and this expression, he looked less _pretty,_ more _jagged._ But then his expression let up, easing back into annoyance right before he turned away to stalk toward his pupil, and the pretty took over again.

Pretty lashes and prominent scar. An interesting combination on a face Joe didn’t anticipate seeing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it should also be noted that there is no update schedule for this. we are just simply vibing


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because nothing says romance like grumpy old men. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all 💜

Dmytro couldn’t seem to get the stubby, infuriating man from Kings Row’s last match out of his mind. It had been nothing at first, just a leftover irritation. Grinding teeth or a clenched jaw over the memory of being called _son_ or talked down to by a man who only came up to his chin. It was simply that he didn’t like to lose an argument and they’d been interrupted before he’d had the chance to solidly win it. No doubt, the man thought he’d won and proven that Nicholas was somehow more impressive than Seiji just because he didn’t have the resources Seiji did. Seiji still worked hard. Had still put in more years of dedicated training than most adults. His discipline and skill were unrivaled. Even the Coste kid, who had beaten Seiji at nationals, didn’t have the same single-minded determination Seiji did.

But then Nicholas had trundled into the Kings Row’s gym only ten minutes behind Seiji one morning and quietly gotten to work and Dmytro had remembered what his old coach had said. Working two jobs. On top of chores in payment for subpar fencing lessons.

Seiji, of course, didn’t work. Where would he find the time for it in his schedule? No, it simply wasn’t feasible. But somehow _that_ distraction had managed two and then some. He didn’t have the discipline of Seiji. But Dmytro couldn’t help but wonder if the rough-hewn man at the match had been right. It was possible he had something else. Grit.

Seiji was still undeniably better.

Dmytro didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Couldn’t imagine it changing ever.

But still, he thought rather more frequently about the boy’s coach in the following week than was at all called for.

He’d never met someone who admitted so easily to their flaws and shortcomings. And yet, that coach had. He’d agreed that he’d trained bad habits into his student. And he was proud anyway. To have gotten him far _enough._ Dmytro couldn’t understand that kind of thinking. Perhaps it was that curiosity that drove him to step outside the role he’d made for himself in Seiji’s life.

“Just a moment, Seiji,” Dmytro said after a Sunday practice. The distraction had, mercifully, not appeared at all during it to split Seiji’s attention.

Seiji halted, at attention at once. “Yes, Coach?”

“Nicholas’s coach, do you know his name?”

Seiji’s brow furrowed.

“His old one? From before Kings Row?”

“Yes. I have a professional interest in the local coaches. If you understand a coach’s weakness, you can frequently find the same in his students.”

“Nicholas is hardly anything _but_ weaknesses,” Seiji said, clearly still confused by Dmytro’s inquiry. Rightly so. “And he’s on my team, besides.”

“Knowing your teams’ weaknesses is as valuable as knowing your opponents’. It can show you what needs to be worked on.”

“I’m not sure I follow. Are you implying that you want to…help Nicholas?”

“Seiji, you don’t honestly think I haven’t noticed the extra time you put in with him.”

Judging by the briefly surprised and slightly embarrassed expression on his pupil’s face, Seiji had thought just that.

“If you’re going to waste your time with him, we might as well see if there are any other bad habits you should be looking to correct.”

“I don’t know much,” Seiji said slowly. “Only that his name is Joe. And that he taught from a salle that doubled as a salsa club.”

“Thank you, Seiji,” Dmytro said, dismissing him to enjoy the rest of his day.

Joe. From the salsa club. That should be plenty to find him.

* * *

“Do you teach salsa dancing as well?” Dmytro asked. Joe grunted.

“Not when I can help it. What are you doing here?”

 _I couldn’t stop thinking about you_ wasn’t a reasonable answer, so Dmytro didn’t give it.

“I like to know what’s going on outside my own circle of fencing connections.”

“Now, I know you’re not here because you think my old show is anything worth checking in on. So why don’t you tell me the truth?”

“I was curious to see you fence. You talk like you know you’re terrible. And you’re not very good, I can say that for certain now.”

“Thanks.” It came out in another grunt.

“If you’re aware you aren’t a good fencer, why do you keep this up?” Dmytro gestured around the emptying salle. It was dingy and worn. He’d seen some graffiti on the brick on the way in. And the people that all flooded out now were even more abysmal than Nicholas Cox.

“Gotta pay the bills somehow and this does the job.”

Dmytro found that troubling.

“You don’t like fencing?”

“Of course I like fencing.”

“You just said—,”

“I know what I said, kid.”

“Do I _look_ like a kid to you?”

“Little bit. Doesn’t look like you could grow a beard if you tried.”

Dmytro couldn’t. But that was neither here nor there.

“Just because I don’t want to look like a caveman doesn’t mean I’m the same as one of your students.”

“I’ve got students of all ages,” Joe said, as if _that_ was the thing to respond to. “Youngest one’s seven, oldest is, oh let’s see…sixty this year, I think.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sure I did. I said you looked plenty young from where I’m standing.”

Where he was standing was an entire head under Dmytro.

“Why don’t you improve?” Dmytro reiterated, more simply this time. “If you know you need to, why don’t you?”

“Some people are made to be champions and bronze medalists at Worlds and others are made to be entry-level shmucks who teach others just enough to—,”

“To get them where they need to be, yes. You said. And you _also_ looked me up.”

“Sure did. Wasn’t alone in that, though, was I?”

“You’re a very confusing man,” Dmytro expressed. He talked of liking fencing and of being bad at it and yet had no seeming intention to improve. He talked of Nicholas’s achievements and of his pride over the boy and yet Dmytro had only seen him at one match. The disconnect between his words and his actions was unsettling to Dmytro. Worth investigating. He didn’t understand and he didn’t like not understanding.

“And you, Coach Dmytro Osharov, are a very simple one.”

“What did you just—,”

“Sorry. A straight forward one, I meant.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I’ve finished with my classes for the day. My place is nearby.”

What was he—oh. _Oh._

“I’m not here for a hookup,” Dmytro corrected in all haste, a mix of embarrassed at the misunderstanding and unsettled at the idea of sleeping with this man. Joe was not at all from the mold of men Dmytro went for at the bar.

“No?”

“No.”

“Ah, but you’re thinking of it now,” Joe said with a wide smile and eyes that crinkled. It wasn’t a flirtatious look by any means. The man seemed amused more than interested. Dmytro responded with equal disinterest, ignoring the itch of discomfort at the thought of it and the way that itch was starting to feel familiarly like something more troublesome than discomfort.

“I can find men far more easily elsewhere.”

“I’m flattered you went to the effort of flagging me down, then.”

“I didn’t.”

“My place is close. Follow me and park on the street.” Joe hefted his bag on a burly shoulder. “Or don’t,” he shrugged, passing by Dmytro. “Up to you.”


End file.
